Page 102 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
His hands tighten even further, his grip surprisingly strong. I feel trapped there, despite the fact that he’s the one on his knees servicing me. Somehow, I feel like he’s the one who’s getting exactly what he wants out of this.
He fucks my tight hole with his tongue and then swipes it up the length of me, starting at my clit which is ripe and swollen and framed by my thighs as if it’s being presented for his pleasure. He continues his way up, and he isn’t shy about dancing the heated tip of his tongue across my ass before he returns to my clit for another taste.
This time, he buries his entire face in me, sucking that hardened nub into his mouth, and I cry out. The sound is perverted and wild, thick with need and want, and it echoes in the darkness like a warning.
Come this way, interrupt us, and I will kill you. Aspen will kill you. We’re in the middle of a monster mating, and we don’t want to be disturbed.
I keep myself on my toes, my back arched dramatically, head thrown back, and I ride his face, rubbing my pussy against it, grinding that wetness all over his nose and lips and cheeks until I’m sure he’s covered in my scent.
The more I do that, the more aggressive he gets, biting at my clit, my folds, snagging my ass cheek between his teeth and making me gasp in surprise. He bites me the way Bohnes does, like he’s desperate to ensure that others will see his laid claim.
Just once. This is a onetime thing, right?
Only, I don’t believe that for a single second. What happens once is bound to happen again, am I right? Especially something as delectable as this.
“Call me Ash,” he commands, pulling back just enough to talk, his words feathering across my throbbing heat.
“Put your fingers in, Ash. Make me come. I’m so close.”
I’m barely able to get the words out before he’s pushing in three fingers at once, stretching me just enough that it’s uncomfortable for a split-second before the pleasure kicks in. I love it, too, that initial invasion, the push of his body into mine.
He fucks me hard and fast, a merciless slamming of his knuckles into my cunt, and a quick, hot, dirty climax takes over me. My body shudders, and I slump forward onto my forearms as my pussy squeezes and yanks on his fingers, drawing them in as deep as possible.
The contractions are still ongoing as Aspen pulls his fingers out and stands up. I hear the sound of his pants coming undone, the sound of the condom package tearing open, and then he’s putting the head of his dick against my pulsing heat.
Aspen grabs my hips and yanks me back, adjusting me for a better angle, and then, while I’m still recovering from the last orgasm, he thrusts into me with a single pump of his hips. Without breaking stride, he reaches out and grabs my hair, wrapping my braid around his fist and yanking on it so that I arch my back even further.
“Say it.”
“Fuck me, Ash. Make the car rock.”
He exhales, keeping hold of my hair for leverage as he slams into me, knocking my pelvis into the front of the car as he rides me hard and fast and desperate, as if he hasn’t had release in so long that he’s chasing it.
I have no idea what to make of that, how to decide what this rendezvous will do for his obsession. Relieve him of it or make it worse?
Even with the rain coming down in thick, cold sheets, I’m too turned-on, too riled up to care. It can’t wash away my arousal, even if it cleans off the lube from the condom. We don’t need it. We never did.
Aspen lets out these wild sounds, like he’s coming apart at the seams, like he’s half-ready to tear our clothes off and fling our joined bodies into the mud.
“Turn over,” he says abruptly, his voice strangled. He slides out of me, and I groan, glancing back to see him trembling in the cold but maybe not because of it. It’s too dark to make out much, but it’s like he carves this space out of the rain. It falls all around him, creating a strange silhouette in the slick city shadows. So much worse than country shadows because anyone could be creeping around, watching us.
Someone like Widow.
No, no, more like … Bohnes.
I can sense him in the dark, but I’m not sure that Aspen does. Instead, he lifts me onto the hood of the car, his hands reaching down for the buttons on my top. He starts to tear at them, but I snatch his hands, feeling that violent heat ricochet through me.
“If you tear my shirt off, what am I gonna tell my girls, huh?” I ask, my voice breathless and husky. The forbidden nature of this encounter is heightened by the fact that I know Bohnes is watching, that there’s nothing I can do about it. If I called him out now, he’d simply slink away.
